Empathy
by Lupin Drake
Summary: To Be Rewritten! She has fallen in more ways than one, and is under the mercy of her dreams. As demons and pasts come to haunt her, she has to remember her past quickly. It's not just about her anymore. Nominated as Best Angst Fic in The Orion Awards!
1. Empathy

This is another Artemis Fowl fanfiction that just suddenly came into my head, but this time, I was able to write it all nonstop and be able to finish it as well. If anything confuses you, send me a message or review, and I will see if I can help! Or maybe reading my notes at the end of this will be of better use to you… Anyways, please enjoy and review even if you don't want to. I'd like to know what you guys think of this.

As there is no real identification of the characters, I was thinking of submitting this into some sort of scholarship contest so I can have some more money for collage. Think that is possible, or can connections to the Artemis Fowl series be easily made?

Also – any suggestions for a better title for this?

Enjoy!

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own this anime/manga, book series or anything else such as songs, poems, games etc. I have no affiliation with any company, corporation or network. Any poems that you do not recognize are mine, and will be confirmed in a small author's note before it starts. Please do not sue me, thank you.

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**o.0.o**

"…A dream is nothing but a succession of images, thoughts, or emotions passing through the mind during sleep…"

The piano played a haunted solo… it was in the middle of the night, and no one noticed the music when it first began. Everyone else within the whole manor was too far away for the slight beginning notes to be audible… As the piece began to be played further, the notes became slightly sharper… slightly louder. A bit more dramatic.

A bit more desperate.

_A blade sharper than a knife, but too small to be a sword… something that was a product of scientific elements and calculations rather than the elements of the crude world outside bleached hallways and pure human experimentation. _

Funny… isn't it? A piano… dark wood polished and sanded down to sheer perfection. Strings and ivory and obsidian and steel carved and cut and forged and molded into an absolute beauty that could not be reproduced ever again, even though the overall product was made over and over again… and sometimes were crafted by machines in a factory. But this instrument was labored over by human hands. Perfection was a must.

He was always connected to the piano. Maybe because he was like the piano himself – just a mere product of the dreams and desires and expectations of those around him. But then again… weren't all humans the products of their environments? Even if some of the individual beings went in directions that weren't expected or wanted. Or maybe it was because he was dark with a hint of lightness… and with the capability to produce something ugly, or achieve something wondrous to those around him.

**: II : II : II : **

"Again with the people who surround me! Why must I think of the consequences that could result from my actions when they have done worse and think nothing about anything? I am no god – why must I be expected to be like one?"

The piano played once more… the same haunted tune floated in and out of reality and perception, in search of some sort of logical entity in which it could be processed through the thousands of nerves and synapses and bits of electricity produced by means unknown to the one who played… the human body was not a concern, unlike the mind. But this time, there was something foreign within the dark hallways of the ancient structure.

The mechanically produced sounds found a mind.

_The perception of reality always differs from person to person… opposites are everywhere and it is rare for one to find another with a similar view about reality. Thousands could find similar views about everything else in others… And the perception of reality that had lingered by for a few moments was extraordinary…_

The mind is something that even the most brilliant of minds had yet to figure out… some parts of it could be deciphered and made into logic… but the only reason why that was possible was because what was analyzed was physical. The mind, the sole thing that made an entity human was not understood at all. It was impossible… unless one abandoned their own reality, allowed another come in, and take control…

He knew that no one would ever take the time to look at him not as a genius, or as someone who had done both wrong and good and was paying for both, or as something to be disposed of for one reason or another. Those around him played an important part in him becoming the way that he was, but he wished that they didn't. He longed independence that was never going to be his… that was never going to be anyone's.

**: II : II : II : **

"Someone who rebels is just a mind that is too different when compared to the minds surrounding him or her to be tolerated…"

This time, as the piano's melody became drastic and sharp as any blade, but with the presence of desperation, something else sharp invaded. One by one, the sound obviously came closer, but it did not increase in volume. Was the maker of the new, intruding sound calculating the intrusion of the sound? Making it match the song of the piano to be something like a Trojan horse, or perhaps… the sound did not want to intrude at all?

Any and all answers eluded him.

_The desperation to escape one sense of reality and become absorbed into another was overwhelming… overwhelming but not necessary. The desperation was only caused by fear that could be quickly expelled. The reality was just looked at wrongly…_

Reality could not be trusted… it was the only things that remained once fantasy faded. And if another fantasy came before the one who was fantasizing could view a glimpse of reality, then it would remain the one thing that was distrusted the most. The fantasy that came and went could always be a safe haven for the dreamer, and reality would never come and destroy the fantasy. Unless something else broke free from the dream.

He knew whom it was who walked up behind him – he knew that they meant no harm, nothing at all… and that was what bothered him. Who in this world meant absolutely nothing? He knew that all of the people around him – countless thousands – had some sort of purpose, as fleeting as it might be, and that at one point within their existence, meant something in some sense. So why not this meek, but ever so intruding entity?

**: II : II : II : **

"Who in this world is to rightfully decide what I will do with my life or what I think than besides myself? There might be instances where I cannot express my thoughts, but that does not mean that they do not exist or will someday become into words!"

The song slowly faded into silence once the sharp and desperate notes finished their mourning… The one producing the terrible music breathed a breath he did not know that he had lost while he was playing. Turning around, two realities soundlessly crashed, but unlike others they did not fight. They acknowledged that the other existed and that there was not much of a chance for the other to be accepted by the other. Soundlessly, the intruder breathed out their own breath that they did not know that they had found.

It was almost like forced suicide.

_It was a chance for a new beginning that neither wanted; it was a new beginning that would not be accepted by those around them in their environment. They were both mere products of what was around them, but they had gone in ways that was not expected or wanted. And so they had very few choices left for themselves to make. _

One has to wonder if it is easier to live a dream or live someone else's reality. Naturally, the body fights any and all changes so that it may keep the vital and much needed concept of homeostasis. It was a part of survival in the physical world, which was a reality that one could not escape from, unless a sense of reality was given up and no other reality came in to take over. Others outside looking in called this insanity.

The intruder opened their mouth and asked a question full of nothing but pure and honest concern for the other. Be as it may, the concern was not wanted or accepted. But it was not a harsh rejection – the reality of the other might not have been accepted or allowed to take over, but the reasons for its existence was understood and accepted. But that was all that was going to be accepted: reasons, and nothing more. The intruder, on the other hand, wanted to know more. Perhaps they were willing to abandon and trade realities.

**: II : II : II : **

"Why are you so cold?"

"Why are you warm?"

"What is it that makes you frown so?"

"What gives you the reason to smile?"

"Why do I feel so pathetic when I am around you?"

"Why do I feel the same way when I am with you?"

"How can you not understand?"

"How can you bear to?"

"Greatness lies within us all – what about you?"

"Isn't greatness something we have to strive for and achieve?"

"Why do I feel as if I am floating away…?"

"And why do I feel as if I am sinking?"

"Why does it matter if someone is like you?"

"When did I ever say that it mattered?"

"Doesn't it only take a choice to make a change?"

"Doesn't it only take one more to make things remain the same?"

"Why do you fear to open up to someone?"

"Why do you fear to keep yourself distant from someone?"

"Is reality just a glimpse pass a dream?"

"Then is a dream nothing more than a wall blocking reality?"

**: II : II : II : **

The intruder sat down beside the pianist, and struck one key. It was the beginning of something new, something old, something he had forgotten but was beginning to remember. Was it another code to decipher? Was it some sort of test that he had to over come? Was there an actual meaning or purpose behind the single, mechanical sound? Reaching over to him, the intruder took his right hand and made him play another. Slowly, another key was played, and this time, he played the next automatically.

It continued like this – one key, one key, one.

The piano of sheer perfection soon played another song, one that was not so haunted. The song was still achingly sorrowful, and there was still the hint of morning within it. But the pianist realized that despite the obvious relationship between this new song and the one that has possessed him during other nights, it was different. It was carved by something that was not a product of reality or dreams or those around it. It had the independence that he had longed for simply because it willed itself to be like that.

And soon, the song was completed.

An eerie presence lingered within the air that surrounded them. The intruder who was welcomed a bit more than before looked above and blinked once, twice. The feeling of something waiting to be released intensified, and the pianist looked to where the intruder was looking as well. And then, a silence without intrusion settled over everything. The dream was gone, and neither was sure if they would miss the illusion it gave them or not.

**: II : II : II : **

"It still amazes me in how you are able to tell where I am, despite the fact that no one else has been able to before."

"I don't find you… you know that. Something about you draws me to wherever you might happen to be. It could be your mind, soul… or even your feelings."

"And you say that I am the one living inside a dream."

"Such is the life of an empath."

**o.0.o**

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Ok, this was something that was oddly… easy for me to write. But explaining it will be something entirely different. Go figure. 

1. All though the characters can be anyone within the Artemis Fowl series, it is obvious that the main "character" in this is Artemis (the second, mind you) and an original character. Of course, you can let your imagination go wild with whoever is in this. As not one character is really mentioned in this, I could also warp the two figures in this into my own characters and go see if I could publish this somewhere.

2. I have to admit that not that much thought went into this; I was able to write this within an hour and a half. All of this was just a constant stream of thought that I had been ignoring and suppressing for quite some time. I feel guilty about this… I know that it is not good, but there are amazing writers out there that agonize and make their fingers bleed and minds hurt over their works… and I didn't for this one.

3. The quotes do have importance, but they do not have any specific meaning towards the over all plot line. The first and third quotes are my own warped interpretations of the words "dream" and "rebel"; thank dictionary(dot)com and my own strange imagination for that. They relate to some parts of this, but not all of it like others.

As for the second and fourth quote, if I wrote a fanfic with Artemis and my original character, I would have them say those quotes somewhere in the story. The third one is obviously a quote that Artemis would say – some of us AF fangirls do see him as a god, don't we? As for the fourth one, that one will belong to my original character if I ever give her a total and complete existence.

4. The piano is vital for the whole story – it gives the story a setting (nighttime; ballroom; a lot of empty space and simple, cold background scenery) and it gives me something to play with. I have always connected Artemis to the piano; it just fits him. Not to mention that in one of the books, Eoin Colfer did describe Artemis's hands as pianist hands.

Also blame Stradivari (who writes excellent Artemis Fowl fanfics I might add) for the said idea of Artemis being a pianist.

5. The quotes that are opposites or near opposites of the one previous are things that Artemis and the original character will either ask themselves (about the other of course) or ask the other out loud. Answers may vary, depending on who answers. Really – tell me what you think the answers to the questions are. I'd like to know.

6. The italics are... odd. They might be a part of a fanfic I might someday write, but until then, they are up for people to decode. But the first one, talks about a laser. Maybe in that mentioned fanfic, Artemis and a laser cross paths. Figuratively or literally, I am not sure. I am a bit more for the literal sense of "laser" though.

7. Inspiration for this heavily lies within Stradivari's works and ability to make me think, and "Little House" by The Fray, which I listened to while writing this.

8. The whole thing about being a product of your environment and/or the people around you that is scattered throughout the story is because of a thesis we had to write about for this stupid TAKS test back in tenth grade. The argument was something along the lines of if a person is a product of their surroundings or not. We had to chose yes or no, and only yes or no, even though I wish they gave me have a computer and let me write as much as I wanted about the whole topic. I would have gotten such a good score on that if I was allowed... I personally believe that we are products of our environment, but how we turn out is ultimately left up to us, even if we don't think it is.

9. Um… I will come back later and make some more notes. I need to dig into this and find some more answers myself. Don't hesitate to ask something!


	2. Gravity

Hello everyone! I have finished the companion fic to "Empathy". It follows pretty much the same basic pattern of "Empathy", and I hope you all like it. Finally, some more information has been revealed about the mysterious character (the female one) from last time – she has a name! I am definitely going to see if I can write a full multi-chapter about all of this. The thing is floating in my head and itching to be revealed.

Please enjoy and review!

3/15/07 – I have made some edits, and have found out that we humans can get into a critical condition if we fall from a height of two stories or more. The ground floor doesn't count, as you can't really fall from it. Maybe if there was a high window you might…

4/09/07 - I have finally gotten a location for my main OC's fall - The Whispering Gallery of St. Paul's Cathedral in London. I hope that this will lead to some very interesting events later on in the story. I love crime scenes and such happening in churches. Blame my love for Dan Brown's books for that.

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own this anime/manga, book series or anything else such as songs, poems, games etc. I have no affiliation with any company, corporation or network. Any poems that you do not recognize are mine, and will be confirmed in a small author's note before it starts. Please do not sue me, thank you.

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**Am·ne·sia** Origin: 1780–90; From the Greek word "amnésía", a variant of "amnéstía" – oblivion. Complete or partial loss of memory due to injury to the brain. 

She bit her lip as she lightly placed her fingers upon one of the pure white bars… making sure that she did not create a sound. Making sure that she was completely silent and absolutely devoid of any kind of emotion seemed to be vital for her existence. And yet, she did not understand why this was so. But the fog around her mind was certainly to blame. She closed her eyes and physically felt the weight of the fog…

Something was slowly killing her…

_Falling… she could hear the wind pass her as she tried to take a glimpse of the world around her. She saw noting but blurs of letters glowing with neon, mirrors and flashing lights… And then she heard more – gasps from people far away, a cry of despair and a loud curse. Someone had failed in obtaining something vital…_

The world around us is a mysterious thing. And even though we dig into the past, dissect and categorize every living thing on the planet, and analyze every chemical and compound that one could find or make, there are certain things that elude us. The realm of knowledge can only go so far before certain questions become unanswerable. Thus, one must ask… should one rely on answers from a book, or whispers of the wind?

She was one who always listened to the wind. Even now, all though it was blowing gently and she could not quite hear it due to closed doors and windows; she relaxed under its cool reassurances. As long as she could hear the wind, she would be all right. Feelings outside of her own mind might confuse and hurt her, and she might doubt herself because of the fog clouding her mind… But fog was always at the mercy of the wind.

**: II : II : II : **

"What happened?! Who is this? Someone call the hospital! She is still alive! It's a miracle that she did not crash into the sidewalk… What is her condition? Is she breathing normally? How is her pulse? Are there any profound wounds? How did she fall?"

Sliding softly onto the hardwood, polished seat, she wondered if this is what he felt like whenever he assumed this position. She had watched him many times press and release the various keys that laid out systematically before her. Such power… to connect ink on a piece of paper to the various sounds one could hear. And to be able to be in command of such a miracle of moving people to tears, creating joy and bliss or moving one to speechlessness! Only a true master deserved to be near this wonder…

And she was anything but.

_Blinking, she did not mind the blinding light. Maybe it was a sign that she had escaped… escaped from who? Maybe it was a sign that she was in heaven. Or maybe she was in a nicer place in hell. Did she commit enough sins to be condemned? Did she repent enough to be redeemed? As she focused her eyes… she realized that she was in between._

One has to wonder about the mystical sense of the world. As one person said, legends and myths come from some sense of truth. Look around you… there is something mystical connected to everything in one way or another. But the greatest mystery, the most magnificent legend and the most puzzling myth is the human mind. What possesses a mind? What does it take to create or have one? How does it even exist?

She was never one to pay attention to scientific details or facts unless it was necessary for her to do so. And when it came to the human mind, she did not need textbooks or degrees to understand it. She just listened and felt – empathy was something she was blessed and cursed with. She was always at the mercy of emotion, especially pure and raw feelings. In this way, she quickly learned that she needed to keep her own emotions blocked.

**: II : II : II : **

**Ap·a·thy** Origin: 1595–1605; From the Greek word "apátheia", insensibility to suffering. Equivalent to "apathe-", unfeeling. An absence or suppression of emotion.

She pressed one key; it was a deep chord… she knew that this was the beginning of something sad, and she was unsure if she wanted to continue with the song or not. She was her own self, right? Should she not be able to dictate what she wanted to feel as well? The fog swirled around her once more, causing a second long lapse of consciousness. Was she not permitted to experience feelings of her own?

Something was holding her down…

_She took in a deep breath to make sure that she was still alive, and was not surprised that she felt a pain in her chest. Suddenly, she was alert of many more pains and aches, but was not compelled to complain or show any signs of this acknowledgment. She looked over to her left, and saw someone who seemed to be empty…_

Memories are precious things that many of us hold dear to our hearts. Without them, we would not have many reasons for being the people we are. We might be compelled to act, but without reason behind it, any action that we do becomes illogical. This might be the reason behind the brief shock and fear when one forgets something… To forget is to cease to be logical. And even in this world, everything is dictated by some sense of logic.

She pressed another key and another, listening to each sound that it made. She could not make the music flow quite yet. The fog was still there looming over her, and causing her to be slow with her actions. She had to be cautious and experiment with everything before she decided if it was a safe venture or not. Thankfully, in this spacious and calm mansion, she had experienced more security than she could not recall.

**: II : II : II : **

"Darcia, get behind me… Let's see what these guys want. I am sure they mean no harm or anything. … Darcia! _Quick, get out of here!_ Don't worry about me – I'll be – Darcia! Leave her alone you bastards! Run, Darcia! Get out of here! _No_ –! _Darcia_…!

She pressed a few more cords before she heard soft footsteps behind her. She turned around and saw the master of the instrument she sat before had entered the room. She was unsure if she had broken some unspoken, sacred law, or not. As he drew closer, she sensed that he was not angry, merely curious. He never seemed to be angry with her… for some unreason. Maybe it was her condition; or maybe it was something else.

And he just sat down along side her.

_As her vision fully came back to he and any shock she had left, she felt immense pressure on her head once more. She looked over to the one who was empty once more. They did not seem to be alarmed, or anything. They just watched her with calculating eyes and most likely an even more calculating mind to go with it._

Logic, all though it does dictate everything in the world around us, should not be relied on all the time. When it comes to humans, logic ceases to exist. Actions and words always very from person to person, even in the same situation. At times, all reason and thought escapes from a person, and long-forgotten instinct take control. In situations where stress is poured onto someone, instinct immediately takes over.

Something told her that before everything, before the sudden darkness and the fog rolling in, she was a rather rational creature. From time to time, she would do something that would not feel right. Someone then said in a far away voice that the action she was doing would not be done under normal conditions. She looked at herself in the mirror once that morning, and turned away instantly. Someone else was reflected in the glass…

**: II : II : II : **

After she awoke and after an eerie silence that spanned over five minutes, the nurses that were enlisted to take care of her rushed into the room and performed standard procedure. Then the doctor was called after they concluded that she was fine. The doctor then made some tests himself – he asked her many questions that she did not quite know the answers to, but whatever she answered seemed to provide him with good results.

The doctor headed out the door after this, waving his hand to the still silent blue-eyed man, signaling that he should follow him

"She is a very fortunate soul," the doctor said once the door was closed, looking over his charts and fresh medical reports. "She fell from a height of ninety-nine feet. It is a miracle that she was not as hurt as she was."

"I saw her as she fell," the Empty One replied. "She was able to grasp onto a banner and slow her acceleration considerably. How is she fairing?"

The doctor smiled at the younger man before him. "She will be fine within a week or two, but she is suffering from quite a case of amnesia because of the brain damage she experienced. The damage shouldn't effect her more than is has, but I do advise that she should not be pressured to remember or do anything too mentally strenuous just in case."

"Of course,"

"But what you and that other man did was brilliant – " The doctor continued. "Most would just call us and panic. Instead, you asserted yourselves to stop her bleeding, give her CPR and straighten out her bones. But she has proven to be quite resilient as well… she had to undergo much procedure just to get out of critical condition."

"Is she stable enough for someone interview her?" the young man asked. "The press and police will want to know what happened. It is not as if we were the only ones on the street. I imagine someone took a picture of it with their phone."

The doctor laughed. "Maybe, but it will not matter. Nothing will leek from here without my knowing. I am called 'The Warden' here, and so not even the police will come asking questions without my written permission. Only when I say so will someone outside of the person's family and closest friends see them."

The other man raised an eyebrow, a comment of his own. "I see…"

"Her name is Darcia Carey, and she is a resident artist around here, and works as a secretary at Stockyard's Law Firm." The doctor continued, not looking down at his papers. The Empty One frowned in slight confusion. Why would he need to know such information? "And besides, you saved her life. I'd consider that person a friend."

"How do you know her?" the blue-eyed man asked.

He smiled once more. "Her fiancé, Nicholas Richards, has type one diabetes. He often comes for check ups and such, and she comes with him of course. I have gotten to know the both of them pretty well, as I am Nicholas's doctor."

"You're letting me visit her," was the frank reply.

"You did save her, like I said," the doctor said, turning around, and going down the hallway. "But what surprises me is that Nicholas is not here. You might want to look into it sir. Who knows what might be happening within these streets?"

He watched the doctor walk away silently, and went back into the room where the woman was still on the bed. She had her eyes closed, but he could tell that she was not asleep, or would be in a little while at least.

"We should let her rest before we speak to her," a familiar voice said from behind him.

He just nodded.

_What could make someone push you off a building?_ He mentally asked her.

* * *

Well, if you have any critiques, comments, suggestions or corrections of anything in here, please send them in. I love every review that I get. And thank you all for reviewing and/or reading "Empathy" and "Fortunate". I am thinking of redoing "Fortunate" and making it more like these two – a trilogy. Interesting concept don't you think? 


	3. Thanatopsis

Here is the third chapter of "Empathy"! I hope you all like it; I have a feeling that the format in which I am writing all of this is becoming repetitive, but I kind of mean for it to me like that. However, this is might be the last chapter that I write before I actually begin to write the story like any other person would. Well, please enjoy it and leave a review if you so desire! I love any feedback or critiques that I can get.

Also – I am thinking of renaming this as "The River of Lethe". What do you think?

* * *

"In Thanatopsis, there are two main personifications… The first personification one sees is death, and "death" has always been a concern or even an interest of Bryant…" 

In her hands rested a new instrument of perfection. Compared to the piano she had been experimenting with until that moment, it was of a lighter burden and of a lighter majesty. However, perfection was not lost in this piece of creation… Why was the need for perfection such a must within these halls? What curse laid dormant here?

Who was whispering her name?

_It was sunny that morning, but the weatherman predicted that there would be rain later on that afternoon. If she wanted to avoid some problems later on, she would have to hurry… But she really wanted to get to one particular event of that day._

What makes us human? What factors within this world enabled us to develop from the dusts of this earth into the creatures that ruled the world, but fought over it as if we had no claim to it? We are creatures of logic and patterns, of habits and reasons – we are entities of many possibilities and magnitudes of mystery and of warped realities. Definitions do not quite fit that which really allows us to be called "human".

In order to be scientifically "alive", a creature must be made up of cells, take in nourishment and expel waste, grow and develop, reproduce, react to their environment, and adapt to their environment. By this definition, rocks and such are not alive, and it is clear that humans are. But this does not explain how or why we are what we are. Many have tried to answer the above questions, but are we even meant to?

**: II : II : II :**

"Larkspur is floating in the breeze… / I can only wonder / What will become of all of this/ So many possibilities… / Just in case the rain does not fall…"

Adjusting it under her chin, she was intrigued by the fact that it did not feel foreign to her. It was almost familiar… The wood was smooth, and it shone brightly under the high quality polish and varnish that was meant to protect and amplify it. This too, was something more she could experiment with. But a part of her was unwilling to do so.

That part knew what to do.

_The world that one sees around oneself is a world that belongs to them only. Everyone else on this planet sees the world in a different light, no matter how hard we try to see like someone else. It is just impossible to achieve that kind of wish… And it is only in various science fiction worlds where a community sees the world as a collective._

He paced back and forth over the carpet of his office, not exactly knowing what to do at the moment. As she currently had amnesia, and the only one who knew her on a personal level was currently missing, the only logical choice was to bring her to the manor so she would not have hefty hospital bills to deal with when she regained her correct state of mind. But what right did he have to do this? He did not know her at all.

But logic overcame him, as it often did. He was a person of more ration than most others after all. He did not have to forge a personal relationship with her – there was no need to, as she would most likely be able to function within society once again within a couple of months. She would hopefully then be mentally strong enough to regain her memory alone. But the mysteries surrounding her were too intriguing to ignore…

**: II : II : II :**

"…The fact that Nature is able to sooth death is a small lesson of itself – winter will always give way to spring: life will always replace death…"

Taking up the thin bow, she tentatively and slowly ran it down the strings of the violin. It created a sharp and harsh sound that made her cringe slightly. Something told her that she was thinking too much. She had done this many times before; what was causing her to think that she had never even heard of a violin before?

She herself was unsure.

_As was predicted, rain came shortly after she was finished with her menial tasks for the day. Looking out with a smile, she practically beamed at the falling water, the dark thunderous clouds, and the winds. It was such… artistry!_

What some of us will never understand, others will most certainly know and be experts of. War, death, peace and life are always at tension with each other in this world of ours. And there is no way to completely eradicate all of these tensions from our lives, from the lives that each little opposite force that can be found has touched, sullied, purified. History is not easily erase either, so what makes us think that we can?

One person is but one person, but they are still one person. Perhaps that is the only reason behind those who dream and take action, but those are the views of the ever optimist. In a world where humanity is not clearly defined in all senses as so many other forms of life are, where and how does one take a stand? Do they even think about such questions in regards to themselves, what they are and what they are capable of?

**: II : II : II :**

"…Take this iris and hyacinth / It is still hard to believe / That this feeling is growing inside of me / And it might take time… / For any realization to come to me…"

She took up the bow once more, and placed it accordingly on the delicate strings. Drawing it across the delicate strings, and holding down one or two of them with the tips of her fingers, a simple melody played. The composer or song was unknown to her, but that did not matter. It was not perfect, but it was enough for her to live with.

What was this sudden fear inside of her?

_Why would one want to see another's point of view anyways? To understand why they act or say what they do? To know the logic behind everything about them? To achieve some sort of connection? What will become of such things? One cannot see another person's reality and not have his or her own reality soiled a bit because of it._

Giving a sigh, he sat down in his leather seat once more. He was still anxious and restless, but he had reached conclusions and decisions upon many of the matters that he needed to deal with at hand. Many of the decisions he had made had yet to be put into play, but they could and would have to wait for their own time. As for the present moment, all he could do was get back to business.

In the solitude of his office, he could find momentary peace with himself. Once outside and within the world of others, he could not ignore the questions his mind came up with for some odd reason. Why would he be wishing to come to some conclusion about the spiritual and psychological aspects of his world? Just to be able to control his fate as he is able to was good enough for him. It was fulfilling enough for him.

**: II : II : II :**

"I have to thank you once again," Doctor Carnell Aramis said to Artemis Fowl II once more, two weeks after the mysterious Darcia Carey was admitted to his hospital. "Darcia is really a wonderful person, and whatever happened on that building's roof should have never happened to her. I just hope that Nicholas is all right…"

Artemis nodded, as was expected of him. "Do not worry too much; she will be safe, and with the nurse you have assigned to her, I do not doubt that she will be perfectly fine sooner than expected."

"But just between you and me," the doctor whispered, his tone suddenly heavy and dark. "There are some things that you should be forewarned of about Darcia." He then passed Artemis a rather thick envelope – the odd shade of yellow-orange business kind. "This contain records and such from various places… do not let this fall into anyone's hands but those you trust with your life, and believe whatever she says."

"What are you talking about?" Artemis asked, his own voice hushed.

"The papers will explain everything," he replied. "As for believing in her, Darcia is unable to lie, unlike most people. And you should know that someone who suffers from amnesia and is in the state that she is in is less likely to as well."

"I believe that I had better be leaving now," Artemis responded.

Doctor Aramis nodded, understanding. He was not sure if the young businessman believed him, but he at least took the documents that contained Darcia's most potentially destructive secrets. And the only thing that he was thankful of was that those were the only copies of those documents. Whoever broke into his office the night before was obviously looking for them, but would not ever get them now.

Artemis climbed into the limo, next to Butler, and they themselves were sitting across from the now sleeping Darcia and her nurse, a slightly plump woman named Edeline. Personally, the young Fowl was grateful that his parents knew of all these occurrences, and did not mind housing the young girl for as long as she needed. If he came to the manor with these people with him, he would have a lot of explaining to do.

"This girl is very lucky," Edeline suddenly said. "Falling off of a building and crashing to the ground like she did… I cannot imagine how she would have been able to survive if you two were not near by. You two are like guardian angels!"

Butler's face was stoic as ever, and that left Artemis to act like the modest one, and thank her compliments with a small (and forced) smile.

Looking over to the sleeping and oblivious Darcia, he too realized that there was more about her than there seemed. And somewhere within her mind, laid all the answers to his many questions. But he knew that the papers he still held would answer some of them.

**: II : II : II :**

"And I know not the riverbanks of that damnable personage whom you call Lethe, but I for one know and shall always know the sweet taste of that pomegranate and the haunted sunlight of Elysion! Life means nothing for nothing lives forever, even the Titans of our forefathers – but my memories! Forever and ever, let me keep my memories for they are my memories! Because I cannot have any other memories in my life! I have given you my soul Hades – I have given you my soul; leave me my memories!"

* * *

Ok… I have some notes for this chapter. Maybe I should add some notes for the previous chapter as well sometime… Ah well.

1. The first and third quotes are from my poetry criticism of Thanatopsis by William Cullen Bryant. Our assignment in English was to choose a poem from a list, and I chose this one. I found out that I loved it! But as for why I put little snippets of it into here, I am not sure. The poem itself speaks of how death and nature will always be around one another, and in a sense, it sends out a comforting message to those who fear death.

I also find how the title is made up of the Greek words "thanatos" (death) and the suffix "-opsis" (sight) interesting…

2. The second and fourth quotes are from a poem that I wrote and have yet to put onto my site. There is some symbology within it that can connect to the characters and maybe future events. Flowers, Flowers, according to the Victorian Age, have meanings and can send messages if used correctly. Larkspur can mean a number of things, but for the story, "fickleness" is the best one. As for irises, "faith", "hope", and "wisdom" are the most common ones, but they can also mean "your friendship means so much to me". I favor the last one. Hyacinths mean a number of things as well, but I am going with purple hyacinths, which simply means, "I'm sorry," or "Please forgive me,".

3. The last part I wrote on a whim. It just seems to fit, so I apologize if it sends someone for a loop. I love Greek mythology, and I have already decided to put some more into the story somehow. According to Greek mythology, the River of Lethe is where spirits go to before they are reincarnated. Once they drink its waters, they forget his or her lives so it does not interfere with their next one.

The pomegranate seeds refer to Persephone and Hades of course, and how if one eats the food of the dead, you cannot leave the underworld. Note: unlike what most people think, Hades rules the underworld. "Hades" is not a/the name for the underworld.

"Elysion" refers to the Elysian Fields, the place where heroes went to when they died. The word that I used is the original Greek version; "Elysium" is the Latanization form.

4. The last bit I kind of took from John Proctor's last words from The Crucible by Arthur Miller. I hope no one sues me for that, but when writing that last part, Proctor's last words before he was hanged just popped into my head.


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